I stand guilty as charged of having a swollen ego. This time I think it might have gotten me in over my head.
It must have been eight years ago that I fostered a trio of kittens who were born behind a dumpster in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. The first kitten came into my nurture at about three weeks of age, and he was in pretty bad shape. Lucky thing I had some antibiotics on hand when I got him. Well, he's rocking on -- literally. He is the store cat at Woodstock Trading Company.
After I finished with that kitten, a similar kitten appeared the following spring in basically the same location. This one, too, I fostered. The staff at the store found him a happy home.
Yesterday I got a message from the owner of Woodstock Trading Company. The lady who adopted my foster kitten still has him, but she wants a companion for him ... and only a cat fostered by Anne will do. (emphasis mine)
Who among us is strong enough to stand up and say, "Oh, I have no magick where cats or anything else is concerned. Cats just have basic personalities; you can't mold them."
Oh no. Not me. I'm the original Cat Whisperer. You give me two dozen cats, I'll herd them neatly into rows. It's just my special touch, you know?
Like a blithering idiot, I called the shelter where I volunteer and asked for a foster kitten. Regular Gandalf, that's me. On Saturday I will receive an eight-week-old male kitten. Through my peerless magickal powers, I will turn this ordinary, nondescript feline into something really, really special. A cat fostered by Anne.
I did ask the shelter to choose for personality and not looks. Is that cheating?